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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645908">Loyalty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984'>Miri1984</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Wilde Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Japan Gap, M/M, Pre Relationship, a wilde week 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:49:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645908</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Wilde Week 2020, Day 6: Betrayal | Loyalty | Blood</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Wilde Week 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Wilde Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Loyalty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It is surprisingly difficult to get up the courage to hand it over, when the time comes, and Oscar wonders at himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf looks down at the kitchen counter, where Oscar places the key, then up at Oscar, one white eyebrow raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar folds his arms over his chest and leans next to Zolf, trying for casual. It is a measure of how much he has lost touch with certain aspects of his personality that he doesn’t know if he has succeeded. “The key to my shackles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf blinks, then puts down the knife he’s been using to chop some sort of green vegetable, and wipes his hands on a tea towel. “Why,” he says slowly, “would I need it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar draws in a breath. “Because I need someone to have control over this other than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees the surprise cross Zolf’s face. He even takes a small step back in shock, and Oscar feels bad about that, they should trust each other enough by now for this not to be an odd thing for him to ask, surely?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… I mean. Sure I’ll look after it for you if you think it’s necessary but what if… if something happens when I’m out on a mission you’ll be helpless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If something happens when you’re out on a mission I’m almost certainly going to be dead,” Oscar says. “Barnes and Carter can protect me to a point but the inn isn’t a fortress. You know that as well as I do. And a few illusions aren’t going to keep determined cultists from killing us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, they helped a lot, in Paris. Don’t sell yourself short.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar can remember the stuttering stop start of his magic after the poison from Gourmand’s gag, the helplessness he’d felt at the failure of spells that usually came to him more easily than breathing. The crushing weight of failure when he’d attracted the attention of the pursuer they’d been trying to avoid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t been his fault, that he’d failed. The poison had been potent and his brain had been swimming, and in the end, they’d won through. But still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eventually,” he says, with a small smile. “You weren’t very impressed in the alleyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a lot on my mind at the time,” Zolf says, returning the smile in a way Oscar is beginning to find captivating. “But you shouldn’t cut yourself off from the possibility if it’s another weapon to… hold them back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, he had deceived a city with his magic. Paris had been enthralled by the illusions he’d woven, when he’d finally shaken the effects of the poison, and yet no one would ever remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A final performance worthy of the grandest theatres in Europe and Guivres had wiped it from the minds of its audience, as surely as she had wiped Eiffel’s folly from the memory of the earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think,” he says slowly, “that if I am going to be put in a position where I need my magic more than we are worried about the ramifications of my curse, that I will be with you, and not on my own.” Zolf’s eyes widen a little, at that. “I like to think I will be, in any case. Famous last stand and all that? Two trusted companions, standing against the hordes, that sort of thing.” He knows his cheeks are flushing red, but Zolf, to his credit, doesn’t laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barnes and Carter aren’t with us, in this scenario?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heroically sacrificed themselves to give us time to escape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf does laugh then, but Oscar knows it's the image of Howard Carter doing anything heroic ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So in this hypothetical scenario, I’ll give you back your key and you’ll save us with a massive illusionary dragon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf is still turning the key over in his hands. They’re broad and strong and nicked with scars and Oscar is beginning to daydream of holding them in his, pressing his lips to their knuckles, feeling them in his hair. They are just daydreams, though. Harmless enough, in their way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I trust your judgement on whether or not we are desperate enough to risk it more than I trust my own,” he says finally. “But if you feel it’s too large a responsibility…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Zolf says quickly. “No I’ll look after it for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, feeling a little light headed with relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Zolf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf tucks the key into a pocket. “I’ll have to work out a way to keep it on me all the time. And…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you can ask for it back? Whenever you want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar smiles and nods, hesitates, then reaches out to squeeze Zolf’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a few days later when he comes upon Zolf training with his glaive in the yard. The rain has let up a little, and Zolf is sparring with Barnes. It’s always diverting to watch the two of them and Oscar leans against the doorway, taking in their different skills (and yes, their delightful physiques). When they break for a drink Zolf turns and sees him watching, rolling his eyes a little. Oscar can’t help but give him a sly wink in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t changed a bit, really, have you,” Zolf says, setting his cup down and hefting his glaive again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A glint of silver at his neck distracts Oscar from what he was intending to say next and without thinking, he reaches out to snag his finger under a new chain around it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The key to his shackles is looped onto it. Oscar makes a small sound of surprise and then lets it resettle in the dip between Zolf’s collarbones, glinting against the dusting of white hair there. When he looks back into Zolf’s eyes. “It’s safe,” he says softly. “Easy to reach if we need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oscar swallows and nods. He wants to say thank you again. Wants to somehow convey to Zolf how right it feels to see the key there, but for once, Oscar Wilde, master of wit and rhyme, cannot find the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The expression in Zolf’s eyes, though, tells him that perhaps, this time, words aren’t necessary. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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